


Sed Diabolus

by hobbit



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Action, Drama, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbit/pseuds/hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for an image ficbit challenge thingy from an image of the angriest looking Vincent EVAR. There is angst and violence and . . . well, it's Vincent Valentine. Come on. Also, some ugly thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sed Diabolus

Vincent had never thought he could learn to hate silence. After thirty years sleeping in a coffin protected from the outside world by thick layers of earth and heavy stone walls he had gone in quite the opposite direction, and found that the everyday background noise of society grated on his nerves. He had borne it during the hunt for Sephiroth, of course. He'd had little choice. But he had retreated from general society as soon as he could.

Now though . . . now that he sat with his back pressed against the rough wood of Nibelheim's town well, knowing only that he was the only thing currently alive in the town, he would have welcomed the sound of another person's footsteps. Their breathing. Possibly even some chatter.

The thing he was hunting certainly wasn't going to oblige him with that much. He had seen it clearly for only a few seconds -- a huge skeletal canine creature with three heads, the bones grey rather than bleached white. It was newly dead, whatever it was, which meant the ligaments were still wet -- wouldn't creak when it moved. It didn't have to breathe, had no real weight to make its footsteps sound against the cobblestones if it chose to move slowly. He would never know where it was until it was on top of him if he stayed under the well's platform, and it moved too quickly for him to limit his field of vision this way. But he wasn't coming out until he was damn well sure his tactics were sound.

He needed a clear shot, and he sincerely doubted he'd get more than two. The shotgun would be more than effective against a collection of walking bones, but reloading it would just take too long if he missed. He'd have to aim for the chest or the pelvis, and hope it wasn't tougher than the average skeleton would have been.

Carefully, slowly, he broke the shotgun to check the barrels. They were as clean as regular maintenance could make them, and the cartridges slid in smoothly. One less thing to worry about, he thought as he cracked the gun back into position. The rest was up to him, then.

After a few more moments spent listening carefully for any sort of unusual sound he rose from his defensive crouch, shrugging the folds of his cloak away from his right shoulder as he straightened so as not to hamper his gun hand. Moving quickly now, he stepped out into the open and leapt to the top of the well, swinging the shotgun around to catch anything that moved in his field of vision.

There was nothing, and had he been anyone else, Vincent suspected that he might have felt a little silly for his excessive caution. But he was Vincent Valentine, and he could wait for as long as it took for the thing to show itself again. Hours paled in comparison to the span of almost seventy years in the past, and an ageless eternity yet to come.

A light clicking -- almost quiet enough to be the rustle of leaves -- to his right alerted him. He whirled, careful to keep his right hand clear of the billowing cloak, and came to a stop with the creature clearly in his sights. Not, however, at a good angle for a shot.

It stood facing him full on, poised lightly on four legs with its heads down. A shot at three skulls would be awkward at best and Vincent contented himself with just drawing back the hammer of the gun despite the adrenaline humming through his body. He was close to victory, and he knew it. To rush things now would not be suicide, but it would invite consequences he preferred not to deal with when he was alone.

The jaws of the middle head opened slightly in a silent grin, and it gathered its weight for a spring that would rocket it towards him with all the preternatural speed available to it. The motion, Vincent thought, might have been beautiful and graceful when the creature was alive with flesh and fur to make it flowing. He raised the barrel of his gun slightly, waiting.

Incredibly, it came straight towards him, propelling itself into the air to come down on top of him. Vincent had time for a moment of surprise at that fatal mistake before the silence of Nibelheim was broken by the shotgun's roar and there was a clatter of bones as the pellets blasted the thing's pelvis into shards and it fell to the stones in two pieces, scrabbling furiously for balance it didn't have anymore.

He watched as triplet jaws snapped futilely on air and claws scraped the ground desperately, waiting until it arched in a way that gave him a clear shot at the juncture of its necks and shoulders -- then emptied the other barrel, blasting the three heads in separate directions. Only when the last shard of bone had skittered to a halt and lay unmoving for several moments did he lower the shotgun.

He felt no particular triumph, though there was the usual perverse satisfaction at having killed something that wanted him dead. He knew that someday it would likely be himself lying broken on the ground. Possibly with as much justification, if he didn't conquer the demons lying only unwillingly dormant within his own body.

Still, he was alive and it was dead, which was how he'd wanted things. All that was left now was to contact the survivors who had fled into the mountains and let them know their town was safe again.

For the moment anyway.


End file.
